August 1776
From Declaration to Deliverance
by Kevin Boerup
On a warm Monday afternoon, July 8, 1776, hundreds of Philadelphians crowded into the yard outside the Pennsylvania State House, (today’s Independence Hall). Soldiers of the Continental Army stood shoulder to shoulder with tradesmen, merchants, apprentices, and curious citizens. Some climbed onto fences for a better view. Church bells echoed across the city as Colonel John Nixon stepped forward with a folded piece of parchment in his hands.
The crowd quieted.
He began to read.
“When in the Course of human events...”
As Nixon’s voice carried across the square, listeners heard words unlike any ever spoken publicly in Britain’s American colonies. King George III was accused of tyranny. Parliament’s authority was rejected. Most astonishing of all, thirteen colonies declared themselves “Free and Independent States.”
Many in the crowd cheered. Others stood in stunned silence.
Every person present understood the stakes. This was no petition asking for reconciliation. It was an open declaration of revolution. Should Britain prevail, those who signed the document would almost certainly hang for treason.
Benjamin Franklin had joked only days earlier, “We must all hang together, or, most assuredly, we shall all hang separately.”
No one laughed because everyone knew he was right.
The Declaration of Independence gave voice to ideals that would inspire generations, but lofty principles alone could not create a nation. Ink on parchment meant little unless someone could defend it.
The survival of the Declaration now rested upon the shoulders of General George Washington and an army that was scarcely prepared for the task.
Washington understood the challenge better than anyone.
Only weeks before Congress approved independence, he had written that America faced “a mighty contest.” The commander in chief knew his soldiers were courageous, but courage could not replace experience. Most of the Continental Army consisted of farmers, blacksmiths, laborers, merchants, and craftsmen who had never imagined becoming professional soldiers.
It was on-the-job training.They learned military discipline as they fought.
Many carried muskets older than they were. Powder was often scarce. Uniforms were almost nonexistent. Some men wore hunting shirts, others homespun coats, while still others marched in ordinary work clothes. Officers frequently purchased supplies with their own money because Congress had little to give.
Washington himself inspired confidence.
Standing over six feet tall, an imposing height in the eighteenth century, he possessed the calm bearing of a man born to command. He spoke little, avoided dramatic speeches, and rarely revealed his emotions. Those who served near him admired his composure even when circumstances appeared hopeless.
Yet beneath that calm exterior, Washington carried enormous burdens. He was expected to preserve an army, defend a revolution, and somehow defeat the most powerful empire in the world.
The British wasted little time responding to the Declaration.
Throughout the summer, sails began appearing on the horizon outside New York Harbor.
Then more arrived.
And more.
Soon the sea seemed covered with ships.
Veterans who witnessed the spectacle later described forests of masts stretching across the water. By August, nearly four hundred British transports and warships had gathered around Staten Island. They carried more than 30,000 British and German soldiers, making it the largest overseas military expedition Britain had ever launched.
One American officer confessed that the sight was enough “to fill the stoutest heart with apprehension.”
Washington rode among his defensive positions, studying the armada through his spyglass. He knew immediately that New York would become the Revolution’s first great test. If the city fell, many feared the rebellion itself would collapse.
Still, Washington chose to defend it.
Modern historians have debated that decision for generations, but Washington had good reasons. New York’s harbor controlled vital shipping routes, while the Hudson River linked New England with the middle colonies. Surrendering the city without resistance would have dealt a crushing political blow to the infant republic.
The gamble was understandable. It nearly proved fatal.
The first major clash came on August 27, 1776, on Long Island.
British commander General William Howe demonstrated precisely why he had earned a reputation as one of Britain’s finest officers.
While American troops defended the obvious roads leading toward Brooklyn Heights, Howe quietly sent thousands of soldiers through the Jamaica Pass, an unguarded route discovered with the help of Loyalist guides.
The maneuver struck Washington’s army from the flank. Confusion quickly turned into catastrophe.
American units fought bravely in isolated pockets. Nowhere was the resistance fiercer than at the Old Stone House, where Maryland soldiers repeatedly charged overwhelming British numbers, sacrificing themselves so others could escape.
Their courage became legendary.
Washington watched much of the fighting from across the East River. According to tradition, overcome by the sight of his soldiers being cut down, he exclaimed, “Good God! What brave fellows I must this day lose!”
By evening, the remnants of the Continental Army had retreated behind defensive works at Brooklyn Heights.
Escape routes were disappearing.
To the west lay the East River. To the east stood the British Army.
The Royal Navy threatened to seal off any retreat.
One decisive British assault could end the Revolution before the Declaration was even two months old.
Remarkably, that assault never came.
General Howe, believing victory was already assured, chose caution over speed. Rather than storm the American defenses, he prepared for a formal siege.
Historians continue to debate his reasoning. Some argue Howe wished to avoid unnecessary casualties. Others believe he hoped the rebels might negotiate once surrounded.
Whatever his reasoning, the delay gave Washington the one thing he desperately needed.
Time.
Many Patriots would later look back on Howe’s hesitation as the first of several extraordinary moments that preserved the American cause.
Washington seized the opportunity immediately.
On the evening of August 29, he ordered one of the most daring withdrawals in military history.
Every available boat was gathered.
Marbleheaders from Massachusetts, experienced fishermen and sailors under Colonel John Glover, quietly ferried soldiers across the East River in darkness. No drums sounded. Officers whispered commands. Horses were muffled to keep them from neighing.
Hour after hour the evacuation continued.
By first light, thousands had crossed safely. But thousands more remained.
Then the unexpected happened.
As dawn broke over Brooklyn, a heavy fog drifted inland from the river.
Instead of lifting with the morning sun, it thickened.
The mist settled across the American lines so completely that British sentries could no longer see the activity below. Hidden within the strange blanket of fog, the final regiments crossed the river almost unnoticed.
When the fog finally lifted, Washington’s army was gone.
Years later, many Americans refused to believe the timing was mere chance. Ministers preached sermons thanking God for preserving the army. Soldiers who had witnessed the escape spoke of Providence with quiet conviction.
Modern meteorologists can explain how such fog develops under the right conditions. Historians recognize Washington’s careful planning and Colonel Glover’s remarkable seamanship as essential to the success of the evacuation.
Yet to those who had stood on the riverbank that morning, watching a dense curtain of mist conceal the last boats carrying the hopes of a new nation, the event seemed nothing short of extraordinary.
The Continental Army had suffered its first great defeat.
But it had survived.
That distinction would prove to be the difference between a revolution that failed in the summer of 1776 and one that still possessed a fighting chance.